Farewell
by nasdat ptitsa girl
Summary: This is my first Dorian and Basil fic. I inspired it in an scene from the musical by Cibrian and Mahler:"Dorian Gray: the picture"; the song is "That picture is who I am reprise ". So this is a song fic. Is a different version of the death of Basil.


This is a Dorian/ Basil fan fiction based upon "Dorian Gray: The picture" a musical. More exactly, in an outstanding duet song from these two characters. This is my second attempt ever to write in English-sorry for the mistakes in advance-.

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING

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If there's nothing more to be said, farewell

The knocks stopped for a second and then started again. The young man resigned to ignore that noise and got up of the sofa where he was sitting and went through the living room to the entrance door. It was really late. Certainly he was not expecting for no one at eleven. One more knock. Dorian Gray, a young man with blond curly hair and astonishing sky blue eyes, opened the door. For his surprise there in the porch it was Basil Hallward; Dorian knew that the man was on a trip to Paris. They had even met that same afternoon to said goodbye-farewell. However, there it was the painter of the damned picture himself. Somehow Dorian feelings were in opposition for this man, he was grateful because all those acts he could perform without any remorse and he hated him because he knew how the things will end thanks to the picture for him.

Dorian stepped one step away to let the painter enter in his house. He was somehow amused to see him at that time; he was simply amused to see him. Is strange to meet you here. Were not you going to Paris?- asked the blond man half intrigued half angry with this visitor. The other man stayed in silence for a moment, and then broke the tense atmosphere.-I just need one favor - answered Basil as he putted his suitcase in the floor against the wall. Dorian exhaled more comfortable. -Could it be money?-he guessed. The older one nodded his head one side to the other and ordered firmly -Show me the picture-. Dorian looked at his "friend" almost terrified. -Show you the picture? - He repeated mumbling. The painter stared at him for a moment. That is the reason I am here for-Basil ended up saying that in cold tune of voice. Dorian felled fear for this determination. The other man walked in to the house, there were no doubts he was decided to see the picture. Dorian reaction didn't take too much time to come; he run and put himself in front of the painter to block his pass. -No! - He shrieked so suddenly that Basil eyes wide opened in surprise. - You are risking your life with that request- he sentenced and he was so right, but Basil responded with incredulity -For seeing my own work so much I put in risk?-Basil asked skeptically. Obviously, he didn't believe him. The blond man stayed there and said: -I deny it-. The painter took his hand. I beg you-he whispered. Dorian disgusted and in a cold fury asked to him: - Why is your obsession?-. Basil skipped the young man eyes and managed to give a half true answer. - Because it is mine-he murmured slowly. Dorian pulled his hand off now really nuisance with the man in front of him. The picture was his property not of Hallward; he was not even primordial to it; anybody could make it. The only one that mattered was him: Dorian Gray, he was irreplaceable.

The wrath was over taking Dorian when he finally decided to show Basil the picture, and as he took the painter hand pressing it strongly he started to walk being obligatory followed by the other man. They both walked in total silence through the inside of the house; Dorian got a gas candle from the living room and then went ahead to the attic. Once there he broke the silence. - It is all said, my dear Basil. The picture you will see-. He took a key from one of his pockets and putted inside the lock to unlock it. He opened the door and entered in the attic still holding the other man hand, hurting him. Dorian rested the candle in furniture covered by an old and covered by powder sheet. The light was poor, but it was enough. He suddenly threw Basil hand towards him, who miss stepped one step and almost fall. He smirked at the older one, let his hand free and walked behind him. Before the other could said a word Dorian blocked his sight with both hands. And started walking to the, in that moment covered by a white sheet, picture. Basil followed him literally blindly; the painter was starting to feel fear, somehow the chill attitude in Dorian made him feel uncomfortable.

The young men pulled the sheet off the picture at the same time that he moved his hands off Basil´s face that turned in a frightening expression. A cold as death shiver went throught his body passing by his spine. He looked the portrait and then at Dorian whom sadistic smile was for the painter advice enough to know that he had to let that room immediately. He rolled over towards the door. But he could not make one single step because the blond man rested one hand firmly in his shoulder making him stop without any reason. Basil slowly turned to Dorian and said, trying to sound calm, -This cannot be the picture that I had painted of you-, but his voice was shaking. Without any advice Dorian pulled him down the dusty floor making the other man hurt his knees with a rusty nail, then, he seized Basil´s hair and pulling strongly he made the painter see the picture one second time. - You wanted to see it! So now see it! - Dorian shouted enjoying the moment. -Your work is all there-he added coldly. He gave up the others hair letting him went on his knees.

The fearful look in Basil´s eyes was in a weird way touching, the man was scared to death, he was speechless. Dorian enjoyed seeing him in that situation, yes, he found it enjoyable; something quite strange. Finally the man on the floor managed to formulate a sentence: - That is not true- he sentenced marking every word with all the strength he could add to them. He was there staring at the picture, but he didn't want to believe his eyes; he wanted to disbelief that vision with all his heart. He turn his head to Dorian whom smirk made him noticed that the young man was actually blissful with the situation. The painter tried to get up as he nodding his head said in mumblings a lie for Dorian, but a truth for him. - That is not true. I am not the one who made this portrait-. Dorian smile turned in a grimace. He pressed the painter against the floor once more as he pointed the picture. -But your signature I can read-. Basil got up quickly and moved away from the young man and the picture, he just needed to get out of the attic, he knew he had to leave that place, but Dorian stepped in his way out, or to be more precisely holding him from the back. The painter tried to get rid of this embrace pulling Dorian away and it worked; he looked at the picture and at the model. -That monster is your own creation-. Dorian took the other man arm and pulled him closer to him and then to the grown. -That you attaining giving birth-.

He walked on the painter and bend closer to him. He smiled with satisfaction. For second that seemed to last forever they stare at each other; Dorian moved back as Basil got up still looking at the young man, still trying to believe that it was just a nightmare. But he was not such a fool to accept that that was a dream; no, it was real. So that means that all the rumors were true? Yes. The cruel reality was just too much to him, he didn't know if living in such circumstances was valuable. -What madness have you done?-he asked in a soft tune looking at the picture. Dorian laughed sarcastically. -That makes the picture show that version of me? - He replied implying and answer in that question. Basil stepped closer the picture. - That is not Dorian- he said trying to convince himself of his own words, but disbelieving them. The young man walked closer to the other one and stepped in front of him; he putted his hands in the other shoulder and stepped even closer. Now they were at an inch away one from the other.

- That is Dorian-. He pointed with his eyes at the picture. He went even closer, their noses were touching. With a glanced look he stared at Basil´s almost desperate eyes as he finally said a confession that had already being reveal: - That picture is me-. Basil pulled him away and started to walk backwards as he nodded his head frantically. He went through the antique and covered by spider webs and dust furniture to a window, he look down the foggy street. How much time he stared at the lantern in the street: one minute or one hour? He could not tell it; he just got in to the mist with his mind until others lips pressed against him without any advice. That was certainly startling; the kiss went fiercely once more against his mouth. As Basil recovered his composure, he pulled Dorian away. He couldn't deny that he had always desire Dorian Gray; yes, that was true. But he didn't longing that monster; he fell for the young, naïve and innocent men. Not for the men that was now staring at him with a chill look in his eyes, almost enjoying the confusion he could read in the painter´s face. Before Basil could made up any sentence, Dorian took his head with both hands and kissed him again more passion, more cold blooded passion. Why did he have to resist? Was not that was he wanted? For God sake! Yes! Yes, it was. But once again he had to repeat mentally: "This is not Dorian Gray. At least not the one I love". He took firmly the young man´s hands and moved away from his head.

He walked one step closer to the window; one step far from that fraud. For an instant he gave to Dorian the back looking down the street. He ended turning to the blond young man and as he stared at him with a deeply sadness whispered something that he was holding; words he didn't want to give birth: - It is not you-. Suddenly he noticed Dorian holding his hand. He muted. Basil didn't want to hear to Dorian; there was no need. The young man pressed strongly his hand; he was not going to accept such answer that scorn. Not from anybody and least from someone he thought he could manipulate. It was a fact for Dorian the feelings of that older man for him. He knew how to use them for his benefit as well. So the stuff had gone out of his control? So what he had to do with Basil know that his secret had been revealed? Just kill him. Not to made him keep the secret to the grave, because no one will ever believe him that haunted story about a picture that ages and changes as the owner still the same way forever. No one will ever believe it. Did he have a reason? Wrath, hate and loathing were among them. All this feelings were increasing in the younger man heart. Basil tried to free his hand, but he couldn't, Dorian was holding it too tightly. The young man laughed at the other fearful expression. - I knew that it will be my masterpiece-Basil said trying to look calm. Dorian pressed even more as he smirked. Once more the painter pulled his hand away; the other man pulled it closer to him.

The bells of a clock started to ring. One, two, three, all the way until the twelfth ring sounded. Basil suddenly remembered that he was in that house for a short visit and that he had to catch a train; he had lost it. That wasn't a big deal, he didn't even know if he will get out of the attic alive. For being honest, he didn't have any certitude at that time; Dorian laughed reluctance at that so obvious fact, he pulled once more. The painter fear that his arm might end up dislocated if that pulling continued. He moaned in pain at the pressure, Dorian gave a turn and picked something from what appeared to be a bedside table. A tenuous light shined for a second. Basil looked quickly to the other man´s free hand and saw the thing that had produced that glow: an envelope knife; he was shocked by that vision; he had to admit that living in a world without the real Dorian Gray was no valuable, but to acknowledge that the man he was in love with was able to commit murder was something he just couldn't stand. "And of that work I fell in love" The painter said to himself looking at that impostor with sad eyes.

He mumbled: - Now I am not really sure-. Dorian raised one eyebrow like if he was interested or just skeptic about the facts Hallward was saying, for a second he stopped to think about the acts he was going to perform and for a second he thought that maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe he didn't have to kill that man. In that moment the strength with he was holding the painter´s hand went weaker and the opportunity to safe it wasn't wasted. - where is it? And where I am?-completed the older one adding those strange question. Who was he referring to? Dorian or the picture? The real Dorian standing there couldn't tell it, he was perplexed with that query; for a long time Basil had referred to the picture as it was what stayed of the Dorian he met once, but now that the picture had been exposed it was for sure that he wasn't talking about the picture he was talking about the real Dorian Gray, but not even Mr. Gray knew who he was at that moment. He opened his hand and let the knife fall to the dusty wooden floor; a mute sound was heard when the object throb the ground. He stayed there standing at that man that hadn't move one single step.

He didn't want to go back he knew the only way out of that situation, but he stopped to think that maybe he could let that man go. Yes, he thought that, for a short time, just a few minutes. Basil stared at him for a moment that seemed eternal and then turn his back to Dorian; he went with slow step to the window. He took a brief sight of the street and then opened the window extracting the hobble and pushing the window up. He begins to show outside the attic with almost half of his body outside. He listened to steps that were coming from behind him. - I am he? Or he is me? - whispered the blond young man not looking to the painter, but to directing his eyes to the place where the hunted portrait was reposing, then he turn his eyes back to the man in the window. -If he see through my eyes? - Asked the young man getting even closer to the elder one. -Or it is a mirror? - .

Damned picture, damned Dorian Gray, that youngster didn't have any right to retain him and neither to made him such sort of questions; Basil had to admit with all his heart that the thing that bothered him wasn't to stay in that room after all since he saw the portrait he knew it was his doom, since he met Dorian about a year ago, what irritated him was the question, because in different terms he knew he was as guilty as the owner of the damned thing because he created it. He entered again to the room and turn to look Dorian face to face. He made an open gesture with both hand and after sigh he said in a quiet tune: - I gave birth to that creation-. It was something both mans already knew, nevertheless it seemed to be a detail that the younger one was skipping maybe because hiding that truth was the only way he could mute an inner voice that claimed blood so low that he could get deaf at anytime; a voice that suddenly got in silence at the mere instant when Basil opened his mouth to said the things he said, and after hearing that the rage came back to Dorian with all his fury. He went fast as a whistle back his steps and recovered the knife from the floor, and went back to the window.

The painter wasn't there for a moment Dorian believed that the man had escaped he stayed there looking around seeking with his eyes for a possible hiding place; he stared at every shadow and semidarkness in every corner at that murky, wintry and humid attic. Suddenly a chilling wind went through the open window. How could he miss it? He advanced towards the window. He begin to show outside he looked and he didn't saw a thing, he looked to a side, nothing, and then to the other. He stared amused at Basil sitting at a little proportion of roof crying in pain; the younger man got outside and carefully walked to the place the other one was. He bent and kept in silence for a little time while the other was sobbing broken in more than a way; Dorian had to admit that at that exact moment his feelings for that man wasn't hate or loathing, but pity. Basil turned to Dorian and gave him a most desperate look, he cleaned his bedaubed by tears face with his shirt sleeve. He gave a deep breath and said weakly: - And besides you will never notice, Dorian-. He begins to said, he was interrupted. Dorian posed his hand on one of the painter, he caressed it and even gave the other man a warm smile; the blond youngster wanted to said that he knew what that other man wanted to said, still he found it rather difficult because he hadn't forget his others feelings that were fighting in his mind, in his heart, in his soul. He could just manage to say the other men name as an affirmation.-Basil-. The other man suddenly got up; he had his eyes merely opened and his sight fixed in the foggy street.

Dorian suddenly understood what was going on and he felt something weird, he felt that he couldn't stand knowing that Basil Hallward was going to disappear forever from the face of Earth; he felt that he couldn't confront the emptiness that would cause him. Somewhere in his mind or maybe in the middle of the dense mist Basil finally took the courage to make a decision. - That picture is who I am!-he shouted meaning it with all his heart and with no advice at all jumped. Dorian improves rapidly and stretches his arm and reached the other ones hand; he had literally a man life in his hand. He holds it for a while, the other didn't even look up, and he didn't say a word as he wasn't interested in his own life. He wasn't. Dorian understood that as he could the painter´s mind and after a difficult second he let that man´s hand go.

He closed his eyes strongly and got back inside the attic, he didn't want to saw the corpse leaned on the street, not at that moment, he just couldn't face it. He walked through the room with remorse and sorrow; he stopped at the picture and stared there for a while, in silence. He retired from the attic. He locked the door. One tear went after the other. He cried there in silence looking at the wooden door. He sobbed and accepted a horrifying truth. "THAT PICTURE IS WHO I AM!" his soul shouted striking all his senses; he let himself fall to the dusty floor and leaned against the door.

The End

...Okay, you can say it. I suck writing in English.


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